A Different Outcome
by Uncle Sporkums
Summary: In this short little James Bond story, James wonders what things would have been like had some of the tragic things in his life never happened.


"Well, Goodnight, May." James Bond affectionately said to his housekeeper. "Goodnight S,  
you get a full night's sleep. Wouldn't want you to wake up too late, your employer wouldn't like that." she replied, her motherly Scottish burr speaking to him as if he was still in school. Bond smirked dryly, she had never called him "Sir", "That title only goes to Sir Churchill." she had explained years ago. But her beginning to say it came almost like a compulsion, such as eating when you are hungry. Bond had never minded this, he had never particularly liked being called "Sir", and it was one of the reasons he had turned down an offer for a Knighthood, he did not like attention drawn to himself, or his job. Being an agent for MI6 required a certain amount of anonimity, which Bond treasured dearly. As Bond made his way to the bedroom, he thought about mixing himself a drink, but decided against it, it wouldn't do very well to show up the next day with a hangover. He would hear from M about that, and that was never a good thing.

Bond got into bed, he stretched to relieve the tension he had been feeling in his shoulders lately, the wound in his stomach from Scaramanga's bullet ached slightly. He then pulling the covers over himself and turned off the lamp on his bedside dresser. As he closed his eyes, a strange thought crept through his mind like an ant navigating through an intracate system of tunnels. He remember one of the most tragic moments of his life. The well dressed,  
sad looking man coming to see him, and telling him about the terrible climbing accident that had taken both of his parents' lives. He had never cried so much in his young life. Then,  
as he was sent to live with his aunt, the emotional wounds had started to heal a little, though he knew that they would never be gone. The only time he ever felt similar to that was when Tracy was murdered. Then, a notion came to him, what if they had never died?  
What if the game of life had never dealt them the death card? Would he be as hardened as he was? Would he be as careful?

He could envision visiting them at their home from time to time. "That company still sending you on those sales trips, son? What's their name again?" His father, Andrew would ask, as he relaxed in an easy chair, a cigarette burning away in his right hand. "Transworld Consortium." Bond would reply. "That's right, that's the one. What facilitated the name change from Universal Export, son? I forgot if you already told me." His father would ask, as he scratched his gray hair. "I don't know, progress, I suppose." He would answer in an uninterested voice, he didn't suppose he would like talking aboutwork with his parents. Then, his mother and his beloved Tracy would emerge from another room. "Shh, please keep it down,  
Vesper is napping." Monique, his aged, but still beautiful mother would kindly warn, her index finger up to her lips. "Sorry dear." Andrew replied, before turning to his son. "So, how old is she now?" He asked. "Three." Bond replied. "We're both going to see that she recieves as great an education we have." Tracy stated. "I should hope so! Every Bond should be well educated!" Andrew said joivially, before letting out a loud chuckle. "Shh!" Monique shushed her husband. "Sorry, love. Sometimes I forget things easily." he apologized. "I'll go check on her." Bond said. "Alright, just be very quiet." Tracy warned. "Don't worry."  
Bond reassured his wife, before passionately kissing her on the mouth.

He entered the guest room, and saw his daughter lying on one of the beds, her soft, brown hair splayed on the pillow, her soft, white face reflected her mother's perfectly. Bond ran his fingers through his sleeping child's hair. "Sleep tight, Vesper." He said to both his daughter, and the woman whom he had named her after, he almost couldn't believe that he and Tracy had brought forth such beauty.

But they hadn't. She wasn't real. None of it was real. His parents and Tracy were still dead. Bond contemplated these things, as he lie awake in bed. Would family life had softened him? Would his edge be taken away when he would be forced into desk work at 45? Perhaps, Perhaps not. But whatever the case, it was time for bed. He needed to be alert for whatever assignment, if any, that M would have lined up for him. Bond put these things out of his mind, closed his eyes, and slept. 


End file.
